


Rise Again

by reaperlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, Drama, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fix-It, Force-Sensitive Han Solo, Force-Sensitive Hux, Han Solo Lives, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrigue, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Mental Health Issues, Not Phasma Compliant, Not The Last Jedi Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Self-Harm, Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, not TLJ compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperlight/pseuds/reaperlight
Summary: He’d thought he’d died that day. Perhaps it would have been easier if he had.





	1. Chapter 1

_He was floating._

Floating in the black. 

Well, that made sense, didn’t it? He was dead. 

_Wasn’t he?_

But then if he was dead… _why did it hurt so much?_

Why did his chest ache? 

Hell, why did he feel _anything at all?_

So, it stood to reason that he was somehow, improbably, _alive._

But things still weren’t right—why was it so dark… and _wet?_

(What was the last thing he remembered…?)

A flash of fire—right through his chest. 

_SEARING PAIN._

The look on his son’s face… 

_“BEN!”_

Han Solo’s eyes snapped open. 

He struggled against the tendrils of the dark that held him fast, ripping at its coils until he couldn’t breathe; pounding at the wall that held him in…

The glass finally shattered beneath bloodied fists. He frantically ripped off the breath mask, wires, and I.V. lines until he was roughly spilling out, gasping, onto the floor.

Han quickly took inventory—nothing seemed to be _too badly_ damaged. His fists were mangled and bloody from punching through the glass of the tank but the remaining BACTA was quickly sealing the wounds. There was a nasty starburst-shaped scar on his chest that he was pretty sure was new ( _don’t think about how you got it, don’t touch that memory—unlike the scar it was much too raw…_ ) 

His face kind of felt funny. When he chanced to glance at his reflection in one of the ship’s triangular, transparasteel viewports he discovered the cause—the beginnings of an ugly grey beard had taken up residence on his face. Naturally he had been incapable of shaving while unconscious but that concern took a backseat when he woke up enough to realize why the viewport design seemed so familiar.

He was on board an Imperial Stardestroyer. 

_How the hell did I get here?_

Upon hearing the sound of stormtrooper boots coming this way he decided that was a question for later. 

Right… _priorities_ —first find a weapon… then clothes, and a way out. As was standard procedure for BACTA immersion everywhere; he’d been stripped down to his basics—which were still uncomfortably wet from the tank. (While really not as big of a priority as a weapon and an exit; he was sure it would make it hell of a lot easier to think if he wasn’t distracted by his sorry state.) If this really was a stardestroyer than it should have TIE fighters—it had been a while, but he was confident he could pilot a TIE—once you learned you never really forgot…

He ducked through another door, seeking the exit to medbay only to find it was another hospital room. At first glance it appeared empty and Han considered it a stroke of good luck when he found a big black coat and a blaster hanging on a hook near the door—as if the Force had heard his silent prayer for aid. He took both the blaster and the coat even though the coat was clearly part of a First Order uniform—he grimaced, it was so _ostentatious_ , and with ridiculous shoulder pads but he really wasn’t in a position to be choosy. 

Right… now, an exit. 

He was about to backtrack the way he came when a sound emanating from behind the curtain across the room had him frozen in his tracks. 

Despite the gap of years he still knew that sound. 

Ben always made that sound when he was troubled in his sleep. 

In retrospect it should have been a warning sign—but how was he to know it wasn’t just bad dreams and some Darksider spook was _kriffing with his head?!_ He was just a pilot and a swindler—all that mystical Force stuff was beyond him. And it’s not like anyone _told_ him what was going on… at least not until it was far too late. 

Han’s breath hitched at the sound of Ben’s night terrors. 

His son was behind that curtain. 

No, _Kylo Ren_ was behind that curtain. 

He _shouldn’t_ —he should just leave. He remembered what happened last time. 

As much as he didn’t want to, _he remembered._

Ben, his son, was still lost in Darkness. Whatever Leia had hoped he might do... he'd managed to kriff that up too. 

**_He shouldn’t even be alive._**

His son did not want his help (or he just wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ accept it.) 

His smuggler instincts screamed at him to run but now that he knew Ben was here how could he possibly leave without him? Despite everything he’d done, Ben was still his son. 

He might not have been the best father… but he was determined to make up for it now. 

He would not abandon his son. 

Besides, he’d promised Leia.

He’d get their son back or die trying—even if it meant dying all over again. 

At the sound of a second voice speaking softly, Han got his stolen blaster at the ready—he had no idea what he would find behind that curtain, or _what_ the First Order was doing to his son. 

He thought he was prepared for anything but nothing could have prepared for the scene before him.

He couldn’t stop himself from gasping. 

_His son was hurt._

He’d been gravely wounded since he’d last seen him, the horrid, multiple injuries carefully bandaged with BACTA patches. 

Han really didn’t want to consider how his son had gotten such wounds (or why, or the fact that he likely _deserved it_ ) especially the wound on his side which looked suspiciously like damage done by a Wookie bowcaster. 

_Chewie…_

(How could Chewie… or any of his friends have known he’d already forgiven him?) 

But perhaps even more shocking than the extent of the wounds was the way his son clung to the man at his side—some First Order brass from the look of his uniform, Han wouldn’t have thought twice about shooting him if not for the fact that Ben was currently curled up in his lap. 

It honestly never occurred to Han that since turning to the Dark his son could even have _friends._ That his son, the wounded darksider, had allowed someone to get this close spoke of absolute trust. A trust that was, quite probably, mutual—Han knew better than anyone just how dangerous Ben could be, especially when in the grips of one of his night terrors and yet the officer never strayed from his side. Not that he could without waking him—Ben had laid his head in the other man’s lap and fallen asleep there, trapping the officer where he sat. Somehow Han had assumed that this First Order flunky would have few scruples about waking him but then reconsidered—Ben always _was_ cranky when he first woke up. Though an active datapad rested on the bed nearby at this moment in time the officer’s attention was focused solely on Ben. 

It was an odd tableau, especially given what was known about the First Order’s fanatical emphasis on duty and efficiency it was easy to think they’d go about their tasks more like droids than people—as he’d come to understand it they were even more extreme about it now than during his own long-forgotten days at the Imperial academy—Han hadn’t thought that the idea of giving comfort would be in any of their emotional vocabulary. But here he had unwittingly stumbled into a very human side of the First Order and right mixed up in all of it was his son. This, _whatever it was,_ was obviously a familiar ritual between them—Ben visibly relaxed in his thrashing thanks to the officer's gentle carding of gloved fingers through his hair. There was a murmured name, _“Armitage,”_ as his son nuzzled into the officer’s gloved hand, before the tremors stilled, his face slack and his breathing evening out as the night terrors subsided and Ben settled into a restful sleep. 

It was just like when Ben was young—complete with his unconscious projections through the Force. A quick glance at the grimace on the officer’s face confirmed he was getting the same mess of emotions dumped into his brain. When it got this bad he or Leia would usually hand him off to Threepio—the droid, not having an organic brain, was largely unaffected by Ben’s Force tantrums. 

Han couldn’t help but be surprised that the bond was still there. 

It had stopped once they sent him to Luke. 

They’d assumed he’d just grown out of it, or that Luke had fixed it somehow. That he was _doing better._

But now Han could see that it never really stopped. 

It was simply a matter of proximity. 

Han felt a twinge of guilt— _of course_ they wouldn’t hear him crying from across the galaxy. 

But now Han felt it all as if it were his own. Pain, conflict. _Kylo Ren’s_ hopes and fears… but the most surprising thing to Han was just how much Ben had calmed, soothed by the officer’s mere presence, by the hand in his hair, the First Order officer his son was cuddling with. 

Han hated him already.

He hated how he made them look bad—how this officer, unlike himself or Leia, stayed by Ben’s side. How he took it all willingly, accepting the migraine and nosebleed as par the course when it came to interacting with Ben. 

It rankled to think that Ben might just have been treated better as a _weapon_ then he ever was as their son. (Were they really such bad parents? What did it say about them that the _bad guys_ could do a better job?) His son had never calmed so in his presence—Ben had never _allowed_ it—never _trusted_ him that much. It was like getting stabbed through the chest all over again. 

And what the hell kind of name was _Armitage_ anyway?

Officer Armchair didn’t look like much—just some scrawny redhead spacer who, given the pallor of his skin, looked to be a complete stranger to sunlight. 

The ginger glanced up and met his gaze upon hearing his approach, glaring at the sudden intrusion but expressing a total lack of surprise or fear. Either he’d known he was there the entire time or had one hell of a poker face. Han suppressed a shudder—the man had eyes like a snake. No, that didn’t do it justice—the man had soulless, empty blue-green eyes that for all the light in them could have belonged to a corpse. 

(What could Ben possibly see in him?) 

He felt an irrational surge of jealousy as he watched his son relax against the other man. He could never get Ben to calm down when he was having one of his fits. Perhaps it was sedatives—Ben was more relaxed than Han had ever seen him. Yes, that had to be it. He’d just been sedated, and it had nothing to do with this rat-faced creep of an Imperial or the projected feeling of leather-clad fingers carding through his hair—an Imperial his son apparently knew by name even when talking in his sleep. 

Han could feel the other man sizing him up in turn—no that wasn’t _quite right_ —he’d already been judged and found wanting. _Armitage_ only gave him a cursory glance before returning his focus back on Ben. Han internally scoffed—anyone named _Armitage_ had no right to judge. 

“Right… okay… I” Han muttered, idly waving his stolen blaster in the direction of the unnerving ginger. While apparently his son trusted this man implicitly, to Han it remained to be seen if that trust was truly deserved as a testament to the officer's character or if it was more of Snoke and the First Order further messing with his brain.

“Please be silent,” Armitage admonished softly in that biting, slightly nasally Coruscanti accent that all Imperials strove to emulate. “You will wake him. And he is—” 

“… grumpy when he first wakes up,” Han finished for him. 

Han was confident that _that,_ at least, hadn’t changed. 

“That is my coat,” Armitage said with a scowl… or maybe that was just his face. It was honestly hard to tell. 

Han ignored the complaint (and the coat he was using to stay decent) in favor of focusing on his son. 

“How is he?” 

Armitage struggled for a moment and looked like he was considering not replying. 

Han unconsciously gripped his stolen blaster tighter when it looked like the officer would deny him this. 

“You’re his father, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question—it was apparent Armitage had had long hours of observation to already come to that conclusion. 

He must have been in that BACTA tank for some time considering his chest appeared to be healed—which was a far better sight than Ben’s injuries… 

“Why isn’t he healing?” Han demanded. 

The officer’s jaw tightened. 

“The Supreme Leader… “

 _“Snoke?_ What the hell did he do to him now?!” 

In any other circumstance, Han would find it amusing how the officer’s eyebrows knitted in obvious vexation—it was clear that Officer Armchair was torn again between not answering the “rebel scum” and ranting about his current predicament. 

Apparently the desire to rant won out. 

“As punishment for his failure the Supreme Leader… he decreed that Ren must heal himself with the Force. Or not heal at all.” 

“That’s _barbaric!_ ” 

The officer stared. 

“What?” Han demanded. 

“It’s just… I never thought I would find myself agreeing with some _Resistance rogue._ ” 

"Well..." Han grimaced. "It is." 

Armitage made a slight disgruntled noise and, in a surprisingly human gesture, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really should submit myself to reconditioning.” 

Han slowly allowed the stolen blaster to no longer be trained on the man caring for his son (but thanks to instincts born of a lifetime was still prepared to use it at a moment’s notice.)

Han looked pointedly at the bandages. “Not that I’m complaining but doesn’t that mean you’re treating him in defiance of orders?”

The officer’s face flushed at the accusation—Han noted it clashed horribly with his hair. 

“Only when we feared we’d lose him… And the Supreme Leader… _relented_ some… He allowed me to apply topical BACTA.” 

“He _allowed you_ to apply them. You don’t look like a nurse. Or are you a meddroid?” 

Han was surprised when Armitage let out a bitter laugh. “That is _my punishment,_ I suppose, for interfering with his apprentice.” 

“Hey… uh… not to state the obvious or anything but if his Supreme Ugliness is such a dick why do you work for him?”

Whatever rapport he’d managed to build with the officer immediately crumbled as Armitage visibly withdrew from the conversation. 

_“I’ll never betray the Order!”_

_Good going Han, you just **had** to stick your foot in it._

Han put up his free hand in a disarming gesture—the same disarming gesture he’d used for decades to con countless beings from the Hutts to the Guavians. “Hey, I said nothing about _the Order,_ ” Han insisted, talking fast, “But if _this_ is what he does to his ‘favorite apprentice’ then surely he doesn’t have your people’s best interests in mind?” 

The officer at least seemed to be considering his words. 

No, Han realized, it was more than that. It was just like when he’d confronted Ben. Armitage already _knew._

What hold did Snoke have on _both_ of them?

Whatever it was he had to figure it out fast—he wasn’t looking forward to getting stabbed again or, more likely, _shot._

_Alright, Han. What do you know about Officer Gingerbread?_

Well, he was some high-ranking Imperial, well, _First Order_ officer. Back when Han attended the Imperial Academy ambition and backstabbing were the name of the game. The Academies couldn’t have changed _that_ much….

“You know…” Han began, conversationally, “as long as Snoke’s around you’re not going to get to sit in his chair.” 

The officer seemed, if possible, even more confused by this new line of inquiry. 

“Why would I _want…?_ The Supreme Leader’s _chair?_ That ancient thing? With not even a _pillow?_ While I suppose it must serve the Supreme Leader well it certainly doesn’t look comfortable and is but barely functional for a _human_ to sit in.” 

“I meant metaphorically speaking.”

Armitage rolled his eyes. “The ridiculousness of Republican sensibilities. I see where Ren gets it from. No. I have a duty to the Order, Solo—” 

(Well that answered that question—the officer knew _exactly_ who he was. Han wished he could say the same if only to level the playing field…)

“—I perform my duty and it is not _my place_ to question.” 

“Are you _sure_ you’re not a droid?”

“The Order goes beyond my personal ambitions. I swore the Oath and I intend to uphold it. I don’t expect some dishonorable _scoundrel_ such as yourself to understand.” 

“Ouch. You _wound me,_ sir.” 

Armitage scoffed. "I do believe you have your son for that." 

Han barely refrained from cringing at the reminder but he couldn't help but feel elated when he noted that the mark, no his son’s… er, _friend,_ as much of a sadistic bastard as he was, he did seem to be warming up to him—if that amused glint in his eye and the slight quirk of the lips was any indication. 

“But your Order… it’s about bringing, well _Order_ to the galaxy right?” 

The officer immediately turned frosty again. “Are you seriously presuming to tell me what the Order _is?_ ”

“No, of course not! It’s just you know what Sith _are_ and as long as he’s there…” 

“Your prejudices are showing again, Solo. Snoke is not a Sith and neither is your son.” 

_“Really?_ Then what _is_ he?” 

“…You know? I don’t know what he is, nor do I particularly care. Hokey religious mysticism and overblown theatrics is not my division. He's my... _He's Ren._ That's enough for me.” 

It was a shame they had _that_ much in common—it was at that moment Han realized he might have actually gotten on with his son’s boyfriend. _Might have,_ had he not been an enemy soldier and also an asshole. 

“Anyway, it hardly matters what Snoke does with his free time,” Armitage continued, “He’s the Supreme Leader.” 

“What makes him Supreme?” Han asked. 

Leather creaked as the officer squeezed his free hand into a tight fist.

“No really— _why him?”_ Han pressed. 

“It is the way it’s always been! Since the Order was founded! The Supreme Leader is wise…” 

“You know, I think I’ve heard that one before... Ben…” 

_“Ren,”_ Armitage corrected automatically. 

_“Ren_ said the same thing. From my _admittedly biased Republic perspective,_ it is seriously looking like he’s brainwashed the both of you.” Han remarked sardonically. 

Armitage betrayed his thoughts when he glanced down worriedly to where Ren still slept in his lap. 

“But you already _knew_ that, didn’t you?” Han pressed. “He’s _using_ both of you.” 

“Of course he is! That is his prerogative as Supreme Leader—” Armitage snapped. 

“…Your hand,” Han said with some concern as he watched the blood dripping down—the officer was squeezing his fist so tightly that he’d managed to drive his nails into the flesh of palm even through the leather of his glove. 

“You know he’s just going to dispose of both of you.” 

The officer’s silence spoke volumes. 

“So, uh, here’s the thing. Why don’t you help us both by getting him out of here?” 

The officer gave him a look that was verging on pitying. 

“The only thing I’d help you find is the inside of a cell, Solo.”

“Well then…” Han cleared his throat while waving his stolen blaster around again. “I’m taking him… whether or not you have the good sense to get off this sinking ship or not.” 

“Solo…. _Be reasonable._ You’d never get off this ship alive by yourself let alone carrying _Ren._ And more importantly, I’ve just stabilized him again. If you move him now you risk tearing his wounds open.” 

“That’s why you’re going to help me,” Han asserted, and silently prayed to the Force he wasn’t wrong about what his instincts were telling him. Armitage would help them—whether he knew it yet or not. 

“You… You’re _mad_ Oh. _Of course_ you are. You had to be—to make a kriffing landing approach at _lightspeed!_ It’s the only way you could have gotten past the shields…” 

Han grinned. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

At the officer’s murderous glare Han realized that perhaps it was not very politic to remind him of his side’s failures when trying to enlist his help. 

They both were shocked out of their silent standoff by Ben making a pained noise in his sleep and Armitage immediately began searching for a cause for his distress and tried to reposition him to alleviate pressure on his many wounds. 

“You really _do_ care about him, don’t you?” Han said softly. 

Armitage froze, a flash of panic in his eyes—the very look of a smuggler who was about to be caught red-handed skimming Spice from the Hutts and Han in that moment pitied him as a fellow jerk who didn’t do well with feelings.  
“You know Snoke is going to just keep hurting him,” Han pressed. “I’m taking him. With or without you… But I’d rather it was _with._ ”

Armitage was clearly surprised by that. Almost as surprised as Han was himself—it was just something, his legendary instincts again, were telling him that if he wanted to save Ben he needed to save _both_ of them. 

_“Why?”_

It was a sensible question—it certainly wasn’t for his charming personality. But Ben clearly was fond of him… 

“He _needs_ you.” 

The officer’s hardened gaze softened imperceptibly. That’s when Han knew he had won him over. 

"Of course he does," Armitage said, voice hitching, "It's just my fate, isn't it? I'm always cleaning up your Sith-spawned messes..." 

"So you'll help?" 

_“I can’t—”_

Han could tell it was a token protest. 

He would. 

Han waved his stolen blaster around. “You could always say I coerced you.” 

Armitage let out another bitter, broken laugh. “That would never work, Solo. Not with that—”

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the sudden arrival of another officer who shoved Han to the ground and wrested the blaster out of his grip—breaking Han’s wrist in the process. He hadn’t even heard him coming. Perhaps they were right when they said that he was getting too old for this. It seemed he really was losing his touch. He hoped he wasn't wrong about other, more important things... 

Han hissed, more in shock than the actual pain of it—maybe there was still enough BACTA in his system or perhaps he’d just developed a higher pain threshold—it had always been high to begin with regardless of what Chewie said about his complaining when he bumped his head or stubbed his toe. (What did he expect? He was a scoundrel. Of course he would fake an injury to get out of work from time to time.)

 _Chewie. Chewie thought he was dead. How was he to tell him when he didn’t even remember or understand how he had—_

Anyway, this was nothing compared to Imperial torture—or being run through with a lightsaber, for that matter… 

Han gladly returned to focusing on the issue at hand—the man who had accosted him, it was another First Order officer, much older but with fewer bars on his uniform so lower-ranking than his pal Armitage. The newcomer and Armitage were having a good-old fashioned sneering contest—Han, unfortunately, remembered those well from his own Academy days.

“Colonel Datoo,” Armitage said coldly. 

_“Hux,”_ Datoo sneered in turn. “I always thought you were too young for your position. It is clear now that I was right.” 

Han froze, his thought process grinding to a shrieking halt. 

_Shit._

He should have realized. 

The coat he had stolen had _four_ white stripes on the sleeve—a _General’s_ rank. 

_That_ Hux.

Of course Han had heard of him but honestly he hadn’t paid that much attention—that was Leia’s thing now. He’d gone back to smuggling and, up until recently, had tried to stay out of galactic wars and politics. So he just hadn’t placed the irritable redhead as _the lunatic who blew up the Hosnian system._

That was the man he’d been chatting with.

That was the man his son was _involved_ with.

Han figured it was probably a good thing he didn’t have the blaster at that moment. 

Oh, sure, Hux certainly _deserved it_ but then he also seemed to be his only maybe-ally at the moment, and when you were in a pinch you couldn’t be choosy—not to mention that Ben would certainly kill him, _again,_ if he learned he’d offed his boyfriend. At the very least, Hux was _Ben’s_ ally. He was looking out for his son’s well-being so… that had to count for something. 

But now Han faced a whole new dilemma—he’d promised to bring Ben home. He hadn’t known either Hux or his own son as an adult for all that long, he did not know how serious it was, but his instincts were screaming that they would _not_ want to be separated. (How easily Ben relaxed in his presence, how _content_ he felt when Hux was just in the room, even when he was in such great pain…) 

But there was _no way_ he could bring _General Hux_ to the heart of the Resistance…. 

Of course any such plans were only in the abstract at the moment and assumed that any of them were even getting out of this room alive.

 _One problem at a time, Han. We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it._

“…I heard enough. Questioning the Supreme Leader? Conspiring with our enemies? And not just any resistance scum but the Legendary Han Solo..." 

"I'm flattered, really," Han interjected, but was ignored. 

"I’ll see you executed for treason,” Datoo continued monologuing, wearing the smuggest of looks on his face. 

Han observed he had a very punchable face—it was a pity he never got the chance. 

“Hell, why even wait? Conspiring with a Resistance fighter is reason enough to terminate you right here," purred the older officer, casually taking aim with the blaster. 

_“Down!”_ Hux shouted and then everything went white. 

For a moment Han was disoriented by the searing heat and the ringing in his ears. 

Slowly the world came back into focus and Han was able to piece together what just happened. 

Datoo… the blaster. 

Shit. The Force-damned blaster had _exploded in his hand._

And some mysterious force had pulled him out of the way just in time... 

No not a force. _The Force._

For a moment Han deliriously thought his son had intervened… but no—Ren was still out like a light and given their last meeting Han couldn’t help but doubt his son would pull him _out_ of danger. 

No, it was _Armitage’s_ arm that was outstretched in an all-too familiar grasping pose…

 _“You—”_

“As I was _saying_ that blaster is coded to my fingerprint,” Hux quickly deflected. 

“Did you just use the _Force?_ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Solo. As if I’d have anything to do with that nonsense—” 

Hux was spared having to answer further when a pair of Stormtroopers rushed in. 

“Are you alright, sir?” 

"We heard the explosion—is it Lord Ren?" 

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Hux thanked them graciously before shooting them both dead. 

“ _Kriff!_ Why’d the hell did you do that for?” 

“Oh spare me the righteous act, Solo. Don’t act like you’ve never shot a stormtrooper. He’s about your size, isn’t he?” 

_“What?!”_

“I know you are familiar with Stormtrooper armor. You _will_ wear it,” Hux said in a tone that brooked no argument. “We’re leaving. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Do pick your jaw up off the floor, Solo. The stupid look is no more flattering on you than it is on Ren.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on just a minute. We need a plan…” 

The general arched a fine ginger brow. “You were ready to do it on your own a moment ago. And I have a plan— _we’re walking out,_ Hux decreed, thrusting the poor late Stormtrooper’s helm into his chest. 

Han struggled to hold it with just one hand. He supposed he should count himself lucky that his hand was merely broken and not lopped off in a saber duel like so many of his in-laws. 

Sure, in the heat of battle he’d slaughter the ol’ bucketheads without a second thought but that was then, a matter of self-defense. Not like this. He couldn’t help but cringe when he thought of Finn and the knowledge that these were child soldiers… and wasn’t Hux the man responsible for them? And he had just shot them without a second thought. His own people. That would be like if he decided to turn around and callously execute rebel leaders... 

What had he gotten himself into? 

Hell, what had _Ben_ gotten himself into? He thought he’d known the answer to that, but now he feared that even if they succeeded in getting away from Snoke, Ben would just have Hux corrupting him instead. He couldn’t let that happen. No, kriff Ben’s feelings, as soon as they escaped he was pushing the ginger bastard out the nearest airlock. 

Han didn’t relish wearing the armor the trooper just died in but then he realized that, unfortunately, Hux had a point—his being recognized would make things harder for Ben’s escape. He’d worn worse things (a tauntaun corpse came to mind.) Han grimaced suited up in the stolen Trooper's armor, trying hard not to look at the young man beneath the armor who had died for this. He was mindful of his broken wrist that Hux had quickly and efficiently fitted with an emergency splint. Given this wasn't the General's typical area of expertise, and that the likely reason he would have learned was lying between them, Han found it generally alarming that he was so knowledgeable and efficient at patching injuries. 

Meanwhile Hux, the slippery bastard, used the opportunity to steal back his greatcoat. It was a nice coat. Gaberwool, if Han was not mistaken. He could see why Armitage was loathe to part with it. He would have to though. It was very distinctive. There was no way they could disappear if he insisted on wearing it. 

Hell, was Hux already marked as a traitor? What if Datoo told somebody... 

"Will this even work?" 

“I’m still the General… at least _for the moment,_ ” Hux sniffed, whilst producing a stupid little hat from somewhere. He spent a moment adjusting it, using for a mirror the reflective black eye pieces of the dead trooper’s visor. 

“If anyone asks we are on the Supreme Leader’s business and, even less likely, if anyone asks for your designation, it is DZ-5023. They shouldn’t though. Most know better than to question my prerogatives.” 

“Like Colonel Datoo did, huh?”

Hux adjusted his greatcoat, ignoring the slight.

“Do make haste—time is of the essence.”


	2. Chapter 2

Han couldn’t help but be grateful for the assistance as he attempted to gently steer Ben’s hover-gurney through the maddeningly similar corridors. He couldn’t say that he liked being forced to rely on _Hux_ , of all people, to steer them to safety but, admittedly, he would have been lost without him. It apparently was no small task trying to navigate a city-sized warship with a wounded knight, armed only with stolen blasters that Han was suddenly reluctant to use—hopefully none of the other Order flunkies were as paranoid as his pal Armitage had been and these were the “non-exploding” variety.

Not that he believed he’d be much use at the moment—he could hardly see a Force-damned thing while wearing the stormtrooper helmet—it was no wonder stormtroopers could never shoot straight. Were it up to him, and it didn’t mean jeopardizing his son’s safety, he would have long since lost the helmet and gone with a much less subtle approach. The prospect was still tempting… but _no._ He knew it was not the best plan and blasting his way out would be next to impossible while trying to get Ben out. And it’s not like they weren’t covering ground like this, it’s just… this was a surprisingly big place and, well, _eerie_ in its uniformity. Not even the Empire had been this bad. How the hell did the inhabitants _not_ get lost in a place like this? They must have learned to memorize sector numbers very well. 

Han reigned in his mounting frustration. They were moving as quickly as they dared without arousing suspicion. They were making progress, just… far more slowly than Han would have like. But then running would hardly be good for Ben in the gurney and it would have called unwanted attention upon them. Not that they weren’t _unnoticed,_ but as soon as the rank and file of the Order saw that it was the General they either quickly became overly interested in their consoles or saluted and went about their business. Hux had been right about that—the majority of the First Order troopers were loyal and unquestioning. Lucky for them at the present, but as they passed uncontested through the ship, it just seemed an obvious flaw to Han who imagined just _how easy_ it would have been for the Resistance to exploit this with just a little social engineering –hypothetically one could just wander on through much of a stardestroyer unquestioned provided they were wearing a high-ranking uniform and looked busy with a datapad… 

Though frustrated with their pace, Han knew they couldn’t have gone much faster anyway. He worried that Ben would awaken with every jostle—that would definitely complicate things, if his son woke up while they were transporting him and if he fought them on this… that could get very messy. But then he _had_ somehow managed to sleep through an explosion. Actually, that was quite concerning…

Han glanced down at the gurney anxiously. 

“Something on your mind, trooper?” Hux commented tersely, steadfastly refusing to look at them as he marched them proudly down the corridors. 

Han waited until they were alone in the relative privacy of the lift to answer properly—probably showing far too much individuality for a stormtrooper but, _whatever._ The General was apparently not used to being around people who thought for themselves. 

“He’s always been a heavy sleeper…” 

Armitage snorted. “Don’t I know it—” 

_“He slept through an explosion!”_

“Oh. _That._ ”

“Yes, _that._ ” 

"That’s nothing. He’s… _alarmed me_ as well in the past with this sort of behavior but, well… it’s nothing to be alarmed about. He apparently goes into this… deep meditative healing trance, because _of course_ he does….” 

Though not facing the General and not really able to see much beyond immediately in front of him, Han could practically _hear_ him roll his eyes. 

“And how would you know that? Don’t tell me he’s slept through an explosion before!” 

“Nothing quite so dramatic. No, he slept right through an alarm malfunction about five cycles ago—” 

Han stiffened when the lift doors opened and they were immediately confronted by another Officer. 

“General? What are you doing with Lord Ren?” 

“I am acting on Orders from the Supreme Leader—” 

“When? We had no incoming transmission—” 

“Not on any channel you’d be privy to,” Hux sniffed in that extra snooty ‘better-than-you’ tone of voice. 

“That’s not what Datoo sa—” 

Hux shot him before he could finish. 

Han and Hux exchanged a look. 

_“Double time,”_ the General barked. 

Han groaned, even as they picked up the pace, once again pulse racing at every jostle and silently hoping the Force would be with them… 

“What is the point of wearing this stupid getup if you’re just going to leave an obvious trail of bodies?” Han snapped. 

“Silence DZ-5023, don’t make me send you to reconditioning,” Hux snarked as he directed them to what Han presumed was the nearest launch bay.

“You’re enjoying this way too much, Red,” Han grumbled as he pushed the gurney. Not only couldn’t he see for shit, he’d forgotten how sweltering it got under the armor. 

_Sadistic murdering bastard._

Maybe he was being too hard on him—he _had_ just asked the man to betray everything he'd ever known. But really, did he have to be such a prick about it?

Han supposed he'd just been spoiled by Finn. Not everyone could come out of a place like this untarnished or well-adjusted—he should know that better than anyone. 

Perhaps he was being unfair... 

“Need I remind you we’re on a schedule? Let’s go trooper, _chop chop!_ ”

 _Oh, he's definitely going out an airlock._

Han started when Hux directed them across the tarmac to where their ride was waiting. 

At first he didn’t even see it due to the darkness of the helmet but when he did… 

“ _That one?_ Really?”

It crouched at the end of the shuttle bay like a great black mynock—Kylo Ren’s command shuttle. 

As in _the shuttle that was highly recognizable as belonging to Kylo Ren._

“What’s wrong with it?” Hux hissed, trying to avoid the curious glances of the deck crew as he steered them towards the ship in question. “And please keep it down, _DZ._ I’d rather not have to kill everyone here.” 

At this point Han was seriously doubting the First Order’s tactical genius abilities if this was the best they had to offer. 

Han grimaced. _Maybe he had relatives in high places or he slept his way up the command chain?_ Han thought uncharitably. He didn’t say it but Hux still looked annoyed, as if he’d known what he was thinking. 

“Just… isn’t it a little… _flashy?_ ” 

Hux looked confused. “It’s _black._ ” 

“I mean, it’s kind of obviously Imperial…” 

“Sol— _DZ_ … all of the ships here _are._ And Ren’s command shuttle comes equipped with the best onboard med-facilities. My sincerest apologies but you will find no X-wings in this hanger.”

Han conceded the point and assisted in loading the gurney onboard and away from prying ears before resuming his griping. 

“It’s obviously _his_ , you know, Kylo Ren’s. We wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile—” 

“Solo… you wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile in _any of them._ ”

“You’d be surprised…” Han muttered. 

Hux sighed. “Look, it wouldn’t have been my first choice either except... he _likes_ this shuttle, you know. Snoke never really permitted him to have much. And it… _helps_ … when it gets bad, for him to be in a familiar place.” 

Han looked down to where his son slept on in the hover gurney, dead to the galaxy as he moved him into the medbay, and with the help of the meddroids strapped him in for takeoff. He had to admit it was a rather impressive medbay for a personal command shuttle. 

Still… 

“Okay… So… this is a purely sentimental decision then?”

The general looked highly offended. 

“Of course not! There are many tactical advantages as well. For one, it would be far more suspicious to the crew if we tried to leave via an unmarked covert ops shuttle.” 

Han grimaced; a lot of them seemed more than suspicious already... 

“This is the _only_ ship that is kept prepped and ready to go at a moment’s notice that you might take with minimal suspicion because he, _Ren,_ is always taking it out according to the Supreme Leader’s wishes without adherence to the Order’s itinerary. And, even more importantly, Ren’s shuttle has the fastest drive and the most advanced weapons systems in our fleet save for _the Finalizer_ herself. _It will buy you time_ you otherwise would not have.” 

Han looked up from checking his son's wounds, alarmed by the sound of some rather ominous beeping to discover Hux was doing something with his datapad. 

“Initiate Naboo Protocol. Authorization General Hux. Aurek Solar Ewok 9325.” 

_“What the hell are you doing?”_ Han hissed. 

Shit. Was he really going to betray them when they were so close to getting out the door? 

“Relax, Solo. I am merely eliminating future problems for us.” 

Right… That did not reassure him at all. 

“Stay out of sight, will you?” Hux asked in a strained tone as he answered the expected incoming comm. 

Han had half a mind to be contrary because who the hell did General Asshole think he was? 

Well, of course, he was _the_ General Asshole. 

It was just… the kid was half his age and well, Hux was clearly used to people obeying him without question and Han was used to thumbing his nose at authority—any idiot could see it was a recipe for disaster. 

And it would have been hilarious to pop up behind him right while he was taking a call from High Command… 

But that would no doubt put a kibosh to their escape plans and General Asshole really did seem to have an interest in helping Ben and he hadn’t steered them wrong… _yet._

So it was with great reluctance that Han restrained himself of the impulse, if only for his son’s sake.  


Han watched as Armitage held himself unnaturally straight, facing the comm with an air of fatality, the comm which displayed not some panel of grim-faced commanders as Han was expecting but a rather frantic, mousy-looking bridge officer. 

“I’m sorry, General. I just felt the need to authenticate— _Naboo? Now,_ sir?” the officer squeaked. 

“Yes, Lieutenant. _Now._ ”  


The dark-haired man jumped at the snap of his voice “Sorry, sir— it’s just… are we ready?”  


“Yes Mitaka, I understand your misgivings. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be and there will be no better moment than _now._ I take full responsibility,” Han felt his hair go on end as he noted how the general swallowed and attempted to hide the sudden tremor in his voice. “You know what to do.”  


“Sir, yes sir. If I may, sir… it’s been an honor serving with you, General...”  


“As you were, Lieutenant,” the general said stiffly before going to end the call, pausing only when he heard Phasma’s voice cutting in.  


(Han stiffened. Apparently she’d survived the trash compactor… )  


“ _Hux!_ Sir, whatever happens, I promise that Millie will be well-looked after...”  


The General fought back a swell of emotion. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, ending the call. He then destroyed his comm with a well-aimed blaster shot.  


_“What hell was that?”_ Han demanded.  


“It’s the least I can do to spare them from the implication of treason,” Hux said, indicating his destruction of his comm. That and the virus that was released upon his implementation of the order that was already destroying the rest of the evidence—his crew, at least, would be as clean, or at least as clean as they _could be_ from the stench of treason. With any luck it would all fall on him and they would be spared. They were just following his orders…  


“No, not that… What the hell are you going to do to Naboo?”  


Hux sighed. “Nothing. It’s just a code name.”  


“So just to be clear… you’re _not_ blowing up Naboo or some other planet—”  


“Not Naboo, no.”  


Han froze. “What did you _do?!_ ”  


Hux tightened his jaw in annoyance. “We really don’t have time for this!” the General barked as he lead them to the cockpit at a pace that was just short of running, his great coat swishing dramatically behind him as he moved.  


Han felt slightly winded trying to keep up with him, though he couldn’t say if that was simply because he wasn’t as spry as he used to be or if he hadn’t quite recovered yet from his chest wound. He was aware he should probably take it easy for a while—if circumstances permitted.  


“Well? Are you a pilot or not?” Hux demanded.  


“ _Excuse me?_ What the hell kind of question is—” Han started in, offended to the core of his being that this _jumped up punk_ would ever doubt his legendary piloting skills. 

Him, _Han Solo._ Hero of the Rebellion. 

(Top of the class at the Academy...)

“Then get in the damned chair, Solo!” 

“Not until I get a straight answer! _What the hell was that?_ ” 

“Dammit, Solo! I will not jeopardize the safety of my crew just to assuage your curiosity—”

“Oh, please. You don’t actually expect me to believe you care about them?”

“What are you— _of course_ I care about my crew!” 

“Funny way of showing it—considered all the people you blasted through to get here. Hey, not that I’m complaining,” Han added as Hux leveled him an icy glare. 

Han shrugged. Maybe it was something more like he cared about his crew as a _concept_ but didn’t particularly like or care about the individuals. Or this indignation could just be for the sake of a couple of friends on the bridge… 

Han shook his head. “I really don’t get you—” 

“The only thing you have to _get,_ Solo, is Ren out of here.” 

“As far as I know you could have been calling stormtroopers down on us!”

Hux recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “You really think I would betray him after coming this far?” 

Han folded his arms across his chest and leaned casually against the bulkhead. “I don’t know _what_ to think.” 

Hux rubbed his temples in frustration. “I did not betray him, _or you._ I was creating a distraction so that you could escape—a window to escape which is quickly closing as we stand here arguing…” 

“Alright, alright!” Han snapped as he claimed the pilot’s chair. Han supposed he could always grill him further _after_ completing the rescue. 

Han noted that the command shuttle had a more “sporty feeling” and he could feel the controls were more sensitive than the Corellian freighters he was used to—more like those of a TIE Fighter—which made sense, given they were probably both Kuati products… 

“Who’s Millie?”

Hux froze. 

“What? Is she your mother, sister… you don’t have a girlfriend on the side, do you?” 

_“My cat,”_ Hux snapped, shoulders slumping at the admission as if it were something shameful. “She’s my cat.”

 _“Your cat?!”_ Han repeated in disbelief. 

“I don’t have any other family aside from Ren—at least none living or worthy of the title.”

“Oh…” 

“Does that assuage your curiosity, Solo?” Armitage snapped, bitterly. 

“For now,” Han conceded, well-aware that Armitage had evaded the original question about what that comm had been all about but also that he clearly wouldn’t be getting anything more out of him at the moment. 

And he was right, they needed to be out of here _now._

“Do you… Do you want to go back and pick her up?” Han felt like kicking himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He couldn’t _believe_ he’d just suggested that but the kid (no, _the General_ looked so absolutely _gutted_ at the prospect of leaving his cat behind and… 

Dammit, since when did he care about _Hux?_

_No Han, he's not a kid, even if he is young enough to be your s—_

Han shut that line of thought down immediately. 

_Killed five planets, remember? So what if he has friends or misses his cat or loves Ben—_

Han sighed. That's what it all came down to, didn't it? 

Armitage cursed even as he flipped switches and bypassed security to begin the shuttle’s launch sequence. “There isn’t time! And it would be more than a little suspicious if I were to board a shuttle with a cat carrier. She will, doubtlessly, be safer here…” The General smiled slightly "Besides, she has a duty here as the ship's mouser. We all have our duties..." 

Hux abruptly paused in entering his command cylinder into the ignition, much to Han’s annoyance and discomfort. 

“Hey, I thought we were in a rush here,” Han chided—he thought he understood the reason for Armitage’s sudden reluctance—once he used that command cylinder to start the ship his name would be on it and there would be no denying what he had done… but now was hardly the time for second thoughts. 

“Before I do… I need something from you. “

“And what would that be?” Han asked, guarded. 

Dammit, he should have suspected _something._ This was all too easy… 

“Just a promise. Promise me he’s safe with you.” 

_What? “I'm his father...”_ Han protested. 

_“And?_ That's no guarantee, Solo,” Armitage said so matter-of-factly that it gave Han pause—did he really did think so lowly of him or… 

_No,_ Han realized, _this isn’t really about me._

“I want you to look me in the eye and promise me you'll help him. Promise me you'll look after him, and do your best not to hurt him, and you won’t brainwash him—” 

“You should know the rest of the galaxy doesn’t do that sort of thing… outside of the First Order, that is.” 

“The _Jedi_ do,” Armitage insisted and Han decided not to push it.

 _“PROMISE ME!_ …Promise me, Solo. That you'll look after him, no matter how bad it gets. Even if he isn't your idea of a perfect son...”

“Alright, I promise. I promise, Armitage. Of course,” Han asserted as he powered up the engines and got a better feel for the cabin and the controls, taking care to compensate for his broken wrist. “And you’ll see for yourself,” he continued, assuredly, “You’re coming with us.”

Hux didn’t answer. 

Han turned around to find he’d vanished from the cabin. 

_I have a bad feeling about this._

Absurdly, something was nagging him about the whole cat thing. Armitage obviously adored his cat and didn’t want to leave her. He had given a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he couldn’t take her with them. And that _could_ be why… 

(Han mentally replayed their last conversation. It was too much like so many rebels, those who didn’t expect to return…)

… Or it could be that he never had any intention of actually _leaving._

“Armitage, you _son of a bitch!_ ” Han shouted as he caught sight of one of the monitors that gave him a clear view of the rear of the ship where the disgraced General was trying to sneak off the ship.

Han knew then he should have been more suspicious of the General’s sudden turnaround. Of course _Hux_ never had any intention of leaving with them. He wouldn’t “betray” his Order. 

Even _knowing_ that they were going to kill him… 

Han felt his stomach drop. Wasn’t this what he wanted? 

Just a short while ago he’d been thinking of shooting him or pushing him out an airlock himself. 

He’d get Ben away from Snoke, and with Hux gone Ben's last tie to the Dark side and the First Order would be out of his life and everything would work out… 

_Dammit._

Sure he was an asshole but… 

While Ben was stolen by the Dark, Armitage was clearly _raised_ in this world—kid never had a chance.

A place like this could kriff you up—he knew that from firsthand experience. It had taken him _years_ and much cantina trawling to cope with his own brief stint in the service of the Empire. 

(That might have been him—if he didn't get out when he did...) 

There was good in him… or at least the potential for it. Han had to believe that. Just like there was still good in Ben. 

Han cursed again as he banged his damage hand on the console. He could only watch, powerless to stop him because as much as he hated it, if he wanted to save Ben he had to go _now._

But as fate would have it Hux had to pass the medbay to exit the ship.

Hux paused by Ben’s ( _Ren’s_ ) bedside… just long enough for his plan to unravel because when he made for the door again Hux stopped suddenly, frozen in place by the Force. 

Kylo Ren was awake. 

Well _awake_ might be a misnomer—it was almost like he was sleepwalking. His eyes were unfocused and he swayed as he moved, like he was in some sort of trance even as he held Hux captive with the Force. 

Han watched Hux cursing, and when he noticed his line of sight and let out a curse himself—something had clearly torn open when Ren had moved and he was now leaking blood on the floor. 

_“Armitage.”_

“Ren,” Hux said neutrally, trying to catch some awareness in Ren’s unseeing eyes. 

Kylo acted as if Hux hadn’t spoken at all and seemed to stare at something that wasn’t there. 

“Armitage,” he spoke softly, reverently, as he touched the man’s cheek, “You’re mind. _It’s screaming._ ” 

_“Ren…”_

“You _want_ to die.” 

_“Get out!”_ Hux snarled. 

“I won’t _let_ you die.” 

_“Stay out of my head!”_

“ _Please._ I can’t lose you too.”

“You _selfish…_ ” 

"I’m sorry.” 

_“I hate you."_

“I know." 

Han felt a sickening sense of déjà vu and absurdly like he was intruding. 

He took the opportunity to close the hatch.


	3. Chapter 3

The shuttle handled well enough as Han made it shoot out of the launch bay. While it wasn’t the _Falcon_ , (none of the other ships he’d ever had since he’d lost her could compare to the _Falcon_ ) the command shuttle was very swift and maneuverable and handled quite well—for a First Order mass-manufactured piece of junk, that is. It would probably fall apart after not much strenuous use and they’d have to have several parts replaced (preferably with Corellian tech—it was cheap, easily acquired, and the parts lasted for practically forever provided you hit them properly at regular intervals.) 

So far there was no indication that their departure had been noticed or they were being followed—whatever Hux did, it must have been one hell of a distraction.

“Hey, buckle up back there. We’re making the jump to hyperspace,” Han shouted over the comm… and cringed when he immediately realized his potential mistake. 

As far as Ben ( _Ren_ ) knew he was dead. And not only dead but killed by his own hand. 

_Yeah, that’s just what we need… to set him off when they were trying to escape…_

But fortunately the comm apparently had a built-in vocodor masking effect, perhaps installed by his son so he could take off the helmet during long flights or just for the sake of terrorizing those under his command… random stormtroopers? Whatever the reason, it worked in his favor—his own son hadn’t recognized him. 

(While it worked in their favor, Han still couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at that fact.)

Ren still seemed kind of out of it and he docilely allowed Hux to strap him back into his bed and tend his wounds in medbay. 

It seemed he’d dodged that blaster bolt for now. 

Of course he’d have to talk to him eventually. 

Han cringed again. _Yeah. **That’s** going to be fun,_ he thought as he plugged in coordinates and made the jump to hyperspace. 

Han sat back in the pilot’s chair, taking a moment to just cover his face with his working hand because the question remained— _Now what?_

_Alright, Han, pull it together._

Now that they were away from the First Order his first priority had to be getting Ben into a BACTA tank. The nearest BACTA tank he knew about was most definitely _not_ at the Resistance Base. That’s why the coordinates he had entered had them heading _there_ and not D’qar… and that was even assuming the Resistance Base was even still on D’Qar—highly unlikely. Given how long he’d been out of it, it would only have been sensible that they moved the base since the last battle— _expected,_ really, since the location of the base was compromised and _the First Order knew where they were._ Even though the mission had clearly succeeded and the First Order were left licking their wounds, it only made sense that the Resistance not stick around the Ileenium system and present a vulnerable target that the Order might take revenge on. 

So he didn’t even know where the Resistance _was_ at the moment, and he couldn’t try to contact them either—this was a First Order ship—if he tried to contact the Resistance on _this comm._ it would undoubtedly be intercepted. And that was even assuming that his codes to contact the Resistance were still good. Everyone most likely assumed he was dead. A reasonable assumption, given he took a lightsaber to the chest— 

Han shook his head. 

_Right._

Despite the phantom pain brought on by the memory, Han couldn’t help but feel a great weight lift from his shoulders. That cleared up one great dilemma that had weighed on him—even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have taken them to the Resistance. Those were all perfectly valid reasons, none of which included deliberately shielding a war criminal— _two_ war criminals, really, but let’s be honest about this: Ben would live (grounded for life, _definitely,_ but he’d live) _General Hux,_ provided he wasn’t shot on sight, and they didn’t kill him in interrogation they would want to make a big example out of him with his execution. But now he could legitimately say he wasn’t _intentionally_ avoiding the Resistance… or hiding from Leia. Those were all circumstances well outside his control that absolved him of all responsibility…

_Yeah, let’s go with that._

So now, in the safety of hyperspace, he could focus simply on his existential crisis… no _on helping them_ —his son, the unstable Dark Force-user, and his son’s boyfriend, the apparently suicidal ex-First Order General—even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

_Han, how the hell do you get yourself into these messes?_

Part of him was still trying to process that the infamous _General Hux_ had been the one to help save them, was dating his son, and was apparently well-loved by his own people even though he didn’t seem to value their lives—at least when it came to stormtroopers. 

Oh, and _General Hux owned a cat._

It was a small detail but…. Just imagine it—guy blows up five planets and then returns to his quarters to _pet his cat._

Not to mention _Phasma_ —Ms. Death in Chrome herself, who was also apparently a very good friend and occasional cat-sitter to the General. Hearing Phasma’s voice on that comm had been especially jarring. Unlike Hux who he’d only ever seen spitting and raving on the occasional news holo, Han had actually had the displeasure of meeting the chrome stormtrooper in person—the last time he spoke with her she’d promised to see him dead before he and Finn had unceremoniously dumped her down a trash compactor. 

And here she’d been offering _to take care of Armitage’s cat._

It was so much easier to think of them as just evil automatons than, well, _actual people._ Well, _evil_ people, sure, but still people. 

_His son’s_ sort of people. 

He couldn’t very well forget that as he went about trying to help him— _them._

Hell, he should know. Even villains, bad people, scoundrels had friends, people they cared about...

As Han’s mind helpfully replayed _that moment_ which led up to his getting run through with a lightsaber, Han realized _that_ had been his biggest mistake when he’d tried to warn Ben ( _Ren_ ) about what Leia had told him about Snoke. 

It had all seemed so obvious to Han—that Snoke couldn’t possibly care about Ben because Snoke was a Dark Lord. 

Desperate to have his son back, Han had momentarily forgotten that his son was _also_ a Dark Lord.

That was it—that was the _exact moment_ when everything went to shit.

It hadn’t been intentional but, dammit, _Hux had been right_ —his bias had been showing, and… 

When he tried to tell him that Snoke was a piece of shit and couldn’t possibly care about anyone… his son had heard it as if he’d been speaking of _him_ —that _he_ was a piece of shit, that no one cared about _him_ , and he couldn’t possibly _love anyone._

_The absolute worst kriffing thing he could have possibly said when trying to bring him back…_

_I am the worst dad in the galaxy. No wonder he looked to kriffing Vader—_

_Oh, for Force-sake, Han,_ hissed another inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Leia when she was particularly angry. _This is no time to be wallowing in self-pity. Do your job as a parent for once in your Force-damned life._

Han abruptly stood from the pilot’s chair—with the autopilot engaged he could go back and check on them. His son needed him. Armitage too, assuming he could talk him down… if only for his son’s sake—besides, he probably owed him one—he _did_ help them, even if he wasn’t forthright about everything. 

Hell, maybe Ren would listen to _Armitage_ if he told him that Snoke was a piece of shit where he wouldn’t listen to him—Armitage at least didn’t have the same baggage that he did when it came to the Darkside. 

***

Han gently brushed sweat-drenched hair out of Ben (Ren’s) face. 

“I’m sorry,” he told his son. It’s what he should have gone with from the start if he really wanted him to come home instead of going in confrontational and making a mess of things… 

Of course the words came so much easier now that he was unconscious. He was stable but still out of it. Han wasn’t sure if he felt relief or disappointment at that but… as horrible as it was, on some level Han couldn’t help but be thankful that he didn’t have to face him quite yet. He didn’t think he was quite ready to… try that again. He knew he had to. He would, when the time came. Of course he would. He would willingly give his life all over again if it meant saving his son but he couldn’t stop the _adverse reactions_ when it came to the memory of what happened on that bridge. He knew that was going to be a problem—his son, with the _damned Force_ knowing everything he was feeling… 

When Ben was a child, Han hadn’t even known about Snoke. He had thought it was just been _them, him_ screwing him up with their frequent arguments—as much as he loved Leia they often got into shouting matches even before the complication of caring for a child entered their relationship. Ben was always a sensitive boy and as much as they might have tried to avoid arguing in front of Ben the proximity of the arguments hardly seemed to matter with the Force in the mix. Ben always _knew…_

Dammit, what would Luke do? 

Probably spout some Jedi nonsense about projecting calm, be one with the Force… dammit, as if he really knew what he was doing! (Of course Luke certainly knew more about the Force than he did but no matter how old or grey he got a part of Han would always see the Jedi Master as the cute, naïve farm boy from Tatooine.) Han remembered with nostalgic amusement how Leia had often ranted about those cryptic lessons she had tried to learn in the Force from her brother. _Hell if he knew_ —that was something that always eluded both of them—how do you project calm, or the forgiveness you want to extend, when you’ve never really done well with emotions yourself? 

Hell, that was yet another mistake to be laid at his door—somehow expecting Luke to have all the answers when he, of all people, should have known that the once farmboy from Tatooine turned Master Jedi was so often winging it too.

But for Luke… it worked. Hell, _he’d_ managed to bring back Darth kriffing Vader at the end— _Vader,_ who apparently had renounced the Darkside when he saved his son from the Emperor. But then Vader had died redeeming himself—they never had to deal with any of the messy aftermath. It was really hard to see Vader turning over a new leaf, especially in such an unforgiving galaxy. Han snorted to himself as he tried to imagine the dark warlord retiring to live the quiet life as, say as a moisture farmer on Tatooine…

(No… wait the guy was a cyborg, right? His prosthetics probably wouldn’t do too well with the sand. Okay, say Darth Vader the nerf herder… )

Anyway, the point was even if the former Emperor’s enforcer managed to adapt to the quiet life he was just so damned recognizable his past was bound to catch up to him sooner rather than later... 

Which brought Han back to his current dilemma—what to do with his son and his, uh… _his kids?_

The options were looking quite limited… assuming they had a future at all.

“I’m so sorry.”

Ben twitched distressedly in his sleep but remained unconscious. According to the meddroid “Lord Ren” had passed out again as soon as they’d jumped to hyperspace, exhausted from the strain of using the Force to keep the General aboard. 

_Speaking of which…_

His son clung to the General’s distinctive overcoat in his sleep like a security blanket but Armitage himself was nowhere to be seen. 

Han grimaced as he realized that denied of an honorable execution Armitage might have decided to finish the job himself. Han made a mental note to hide all the sharp objects—not that that would do much good. There were plenty of ways one might cause oneself harm on a spaceship—many of the chemicals involved in ship maintenance were poisonous to consume or even breathe. Hell, if he was _really_ determined about it he could just take a quick walk out the airlock himself. 

He’d dispose of the razors at the very least. While Han wanted to be rid of this damned scratchy, ugly beard he supposed it was in all their best interest if they didn’t look like themselves the next time they went planetside— _especially in Armitage’s case._ Honestly, Han felt like an idiot for not recognizing the First Order poster boy—surely his face was plastered everywhere be it on the propaganda posters in the Outer Rim or the wanted posters in the New Republic... but then again, context was key—he somehow just hadn’t connected the man caring for his son to the man screaming some rousing speech promising death to the Republic before legions of stormtroopers.

Han startled when he heard a clank from the other room.

“Amitage?”

_“Solo?!”_

“What are you—?” Han started when he followed the sound of the ex-general’s voice to the open service hatch.

_“Down here.”_

Han cursed, but carefully made his way down—it was more of a challenge than it should be with only one usable hand. The ladder terminated in an absurdly spacious maintenance tunnel which Han noted would have been excellent for smuggling… if he were to return to that line of work (perhaps it was best to return to basics, given hauling Rathtars hadn’t been lucrative)—anyway, definitely a thought for future reference. With that thought, the beginnings of a plan began to form: it was obvious, really. Whether they acknowledged it or not, he was currently among scoundrels—the best thing he could do for them at the moment _as a father_ was to be The Scoundrel.

With that in mind, Han came across the former general. Armitage was hard at work doing… _something_ though Han didn’t know this ship well enough to determine exactly _what_ at first glance. Han felt as if a pit of ice had formed in his gut as his mind helpful supplied him with the possibilities—after all that effort to get Ben off the ship he wouldn’t sabotage the ship with all of them on it, would he? Then again this was the man who’d blown up five planets without a second thought… 

“Hey there, Red,” Han approached gently, carefully, as if addressing a cornered Feral. 

“Solo,” Armitage acknowledged, his words slightly muffled as he held another tool between his teeth as he worked to pry some piece of machinery off of where it was bolted right into the bulkhead. He was completely immersed in his work, as if he hadn’t had a breakdown just a short while ago.

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting rid of the tracking units,” Hux explained as he removed the other tool from his mouth, using it to wedge the thing off the bulkhead slightly so he could get at another troublesome bolt—Han could see the thing was attached there with all the tenacity of a ravenous blood-fly.

“It’s in your… _our_ best interest to disengage them as soon as possible,” Hux elaborated before finally ripping the thing from the wall, smashing it, and seeking out the next one. 

Han felt palpable relief upon confirming that that was indeed what the ex-general was doing—the tech had advanced considerably since the days of the rebellion but upon further inspection the trackers were still recognizable for what they were. 

They’d gotten nastier, too, camouflaged to look like they belonged there and easily mistakable for some other, critical system. It would have been tough to find unless you knew _exactly_ what you were looking for. 

“Thanks. That’s good thinking. What would we ever do without you?” Han said, partly trying to make the guy feel better after… but mostly because it really _was_ a good idea—while it seemed obvious now that he mentioned it, Han honestly wasn’t sure if he would have remembered to check if it had just been him and B… _Ren._ Han could admit that this whole ordeal had left him somewhat emotionally compromised. 

Hux grimaced. “I’m sure you’d get by.”

“I’m not,” Han muttered as he observed the other work. 

To do the maintenance work Armitage had stripped down to his white undershirt and dog tags—his uniform jacket was off and neatly folded on the workbench, his gloves off and set aside. Even if he no longer felt he deserved to wear it, he was clearly determined to keep his uniform clean. Han couldn’t help but notice he looked quite… _diminished_ and vulnerable out of uniform. The uniform must have had a lot of padding. Most striking though, with the gloves off Han could plainly see that the man’s hands were an absolute mess of scars. Han politely refrained from comment—he had his own share of scars after all as did most who had survived the war—just as he dutifully ignored the man’s red-rimmed eyes. 

Han was jolted out of his introspection when Armitage spoke again, voice stern with well-practiced authority. “Solo… Who’s flying the ship?” 

_“What?”_

“…Please don’t tell me it’s _Ren,_ ” he said, a trace of fear breaking through his icy veneer. 

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s on autopilot.” 

But Armitage was clearly still displeased. “This is breaking at least a dozen safety violations…” the ex-general just shook his head. “I guess that’s where _he_ gets it from.” 

“Hey, in case you hadn’t noticed it’s just the three of us here and Ren is injured...” Not that Han gave a rat’s ass about First Order regulations. It was just that Armitage obviously found it distressing… 

“Yes, yes… I am _aware,_ ” Armitage sighed while he continued his efforts to pry the things out of the wall with a faulty hydrospanner. “It’s a pity we couldn’t have brought a stormtrooper or two…” 

Han barely restrained himself, flabbergasted at the man’s audacity… “Yeah, ‘cause you _shot them._ ” 

Hux made a disgruntled noise. “My stormtroopers are excellently trained and loyal to the Order above all else. If they knew what we were doing they would have without a doubt _shot us_ … and it would have been well-deserved.” 

_“Hey!”_

Armitage shrugged and kept working. 

Han grimaced in realization that Armitage was being completely serious and he really did believe that. 

What the hell was he supposed to do with this one? 

Of course, it wasn’t easy leaving everything you’ve ever known. Han should know. Once he broke with the Imperial Academy he’d spent a couple of months inside a bottle and _he_ got out before he ever reached anywhere near the First Order’s level of fanaticism or indoctrination. And he’d had Chewie… (as unlikely a friendship as that had seemed at the time—a Wookie and a former _stormtrooper._ ) 

“Need a hand there?” Han offered belatedly as Armitage struggling with yet another tricky bolt. 

“Just the one?”

They both knew Han would be of minimal help with his broken wrist. 

“I’m afraid that’s all I can offer at the moment.” 

_“Pathetic,”_ Armitage sniffed. “I suppose you can hold this for me if it’s not too much trouble,”

Passing him the spanner he’d previously held in his mouth, resorting to using his teeth as a third hand. 

Han grimaced but took the proffered tool. 

“Yeah, well… glad you’re feeling better,” Han murmured, taking it as a good sign that the other seemed to be back to his regular jerk self. 

Armitage froze, a look of abject confusion making its way across his face before quickly being replaced by his usual mask of ice. 

“Go to your son, Solo.”

Han grimaced as he felt an ugly swelling of guilt and confusion. He did _want_ to return to medbay and check on his son again, _really_ … 

(Han’s chest ached with phantom pain when he thought of his son again. He viciously pushed the feelings down but life-long instincts were hard to ignore—as perverse as it was, his selfish and long-honed scoundrel sense felt safer _here,_ thank you very much. It was absurd, really—he knew _Hux_ had far more blood on his hands, but he hadn’t tried to kill him as far as Han knew… at least not _yet._ ) 

But as callous as it sounded, he knew Ren wasn’t going anywhere and he couldn’t help but be wary about the prospect of leaving Hux alone and unsupervised. Sure he seemed okay _now_ but… 

(Han knew the feeling. As long as you could keep busy you could ignore the guilt but _afterwards…_ ) 

Also then there was the whole being a First Order General and acting dodgy thing. Han was hardly born yesterday. He knew even before speaking to him that Hux was no Finn—Han had already pegged him as a… _not nice person_ even before learning exactly who he was. Sure, Hux had been willing to help them _before,_ but now they were heading into dangerous territory—now, Armitage could very well be second-guessing his decision to throw his career and the life as he knew it away…

“Why don’t we finish up here and then we can both visit him?” 

Even if Hux held no loyalty to _him_ he seemed to care about Ren. Sometimes that all it took—to remember what you were willing to fight for. Han just hopefully whatever bond they seemed to share hadn’t been shattered by Ren’s forcing him to stay.

The ex-general narrowed his icy blue eyes in suspicion even as he began to clean up with a rag. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull. _It won’t work._ ” 

Han made a confused gesture of his hands towards his chest, as if to say “ _Who me?_ ” 

Hux rolled his eyes as he found his uniform vest.

Han couldn’t help but feel some relief when the man found his gloves again. Though he tried not to stare, Han couldn’t help but speculate at the cause at what appeared to be electrical burns—had the man just grabbed the wrong wire or had he managed to piss off some angry Dark Lord— 

_Snoke. It had to have been Snoke. If it even was a Dark Lord… Not Ben. He could never…_

Han glanced away, his eyes darting about as he desperately sought out some other, and hopefully _safe,_ topic… 

“Gee, ever think of adding some color to the place?” Han remarked casually as they made their way to medbay. 

Kylo Ren’s command shuttle was somehow even starker inside than the star destroyer had been. 

The seats were black.

The floors were black. 

The walls were black. 

The controls back in the cockpit were black. 

The sheets on all the bunks they passed were black. 

Even the pipes and hatches down in maintenance had been painted black… 

Hux shrugged. “Take it up with Ren—you know this is his shuttle.”

Han shook his head, “He’s really taking this whole ‘Lord of Darkness’ thing way too seriously.”

“Be that as it may, he does not appreciate attempts to redecorate.”

Han looked at him askance but Armitage left it at that. 

“Not even _that?_ ” Han asked of another small room they’d passed. He was thoroughly confused to the possible purpose of the room full of broken, twisted metal that took up a disproportionate amount of the shuttle’s limited space. Hux had told him it was the rec room. “…it doesn’t look very entertaining.” 

“No, Solo. It’s not a ‘rec room.’ It’s the _wreck_ room. It’s the sort of feature built solely with Ren in mind. It’s a place where he can act upon his destructive impulses without consequence. It doesn’t always work, or course, but in the long run it’s worth the expense for the equipment and critical systems it has saved.” 

Han felt a chill run down his spine. 

“He still has a problem with that, huh?” 

Hux looked at him as if he were an absolute moron. 

“Yes Solo, psychological scarring of that magnitude doesn’t just go away, even if one were to use rigorous reconditioning.” 

Han froze. “And did you?” 

Hux sighed, “To my knowledge, no, Ren never made use of the First Order’s reconditioning facilities—though they no doubt would have done him a galaxy of good. No, the Knights presumably have their own methods of dealing with psych nonconformities…” 

Hux sneered lightly at Han’s horrified look. 

“I don’t see what your problem is with the Order’s reconditioning program. I’ve used them multiple times myself and I’m just fine. It assists with shellshock and trauma…”

“…and ensures loyalty to the First Order.”

“Of course. Don’t tell me there aren’t tests for loyalty in the Republic because I will know you for a liar, Solo.”

Han let it drop, not wanting to get into an argument right before going to see his son—he was certain he already gave off “bad vibes” or whatever anyway. 

Of course, Han thought philosophically, regardless of what corner of the galaxy you flew to there would always be a certain kind of asshole—even back in the Rebellion days they had a few stick-up-their-ass types. Yet regardless of Hux extolling the Order’s alleged virtues Han couldn’t help but notice that the very traits Hux railed against seemed more prevalent in the First Order itself—and belonging to a certain ginger in particular. And the First Order certainly seemed to be lacking in the human… (or rather not to be speciest) _emotional_ aspect. For instance the small medbay on this shuttle clearly wasn’t built with the idea of visitors in mind—there had scarcely been room for him _before_ but now he was left standing awkwardly in the entryway when Hux rushed in ahead of him in a rare show of what could nearly be considered in the range of normal human emotion to kneel at his bedside. 

Han remained frozen in the entryway upon once again seeing his wounded son. Ren hadn’t moved since he’d last seen him and he was still fast asleep. Nothing had changed, really. There wasn’t really any need for him to be there and there wasn’t exactly room in there for both of them—Han knew he should resent Hux for shouldering past him but, admittedly, part of him was relieved he had an excuse. Ren was his son, yes, and he’d do anything to protect his son. _But,_ as his brain ever so helpfully reminded him, this was also the man who stabbed him, tried to kill him, and threw him off a bridge. And while Han had already forgiven him... he couldn’t exactly forget it either—not when the memory was like a damn holo playing in the background of his thoughts which he would accidentally hit replay on at regular intervals. That was when Han was hit with the realization that he still hadn’t really processed his own conflicting emotions when it came to his son. 

_Maybe it’s just as well,_ Han thought bitterly when Armitage took his former place of keeping vigil at Ren’s bedside, speaking quietly, and clasping the wounded man’s limp hand in his own. 

Perhaps it was a bit unfair to judge his reactions while he was asleep but Ren still seemed far more at ease with his General than he had when Han visited earlier. It was probably the thrice damned Force again. Han realized his own conflicted emotions were probably causing Ren more distress. And it only made sense that Ren would be more comfortable with Armitage. At this point the General probably knew Ren better than he did—hell, he may have even known him _longer._

Han had had to leave his son with Luke on Tatooine when he was five years old and had scarcely seen him since. When he’d confronted him on the bridge it was the first time seeing his son as a grown man. Luke was trying to rebuild the Jedi Order and so contact had been discouraged, and while Luke was nowhere near as strict as the Jedi Masters of Old they all knew that Jedi… well, they weren’t exactly supposed to have attachments and Ben had been so _attached_ to him and Leia (as was _natural_ , he was their _son_ ). For some reason the Dark side always plagued Ben and according to all the Jedi lore they consulted ( _at their wit’s end_ ) attachments always led to the Dark side. 

They were sold the line that, for Ben’s own good, they had to stay away. 

Of course nobody thought to tell him _why_ Ben had problems with the Dark side—that there was a _creep_ stalking his son through the Force. No, let’s leave Han completely in the Dark about what was happening and just let him assume that his son was Vader reborn. 

Han still didn’t understand, why neither Leia nor Luke thought to tell him what was going on with his son. Well, Leia had said she’d thought he’d kriff things up as usual and Han supposed that was fair. 

Honestly, Princess probably just didn’t know what to do about the whole situation herself. 

But Luke? 

Luke had some explaining to do. Because even if Han couldn’t help with the Force stuff… but as a father? He would have _raised hell_ had he known what was going on. They had to have known he would have done _anything_ to protect his family. He would have called in every favor, used every contact, put a bounty on Snoke’s head, or hunted down the bastard himself. Sending Ben to Luke’s was supposed to have helped him. Instead it just kept Han in the dark as to what was going on and kept Ben isolated and without any support while Snoke preyed upon him And for so long he and Leia had feared that their visiting would undo any progress they had made with his training. Then it never seemed to be the right time… there was one crisis after another… and he was making excuses again. Han knew this was inexcusable. They should’ve done better by their son. 

Should’ve, would’ve— _didn’t._

Dammit, he was supposed to be getting _better._

Han knew he could make excuses until the end of the universe but at the end of the day it was no one’s fault but his own that he had become estranged from his son. 

Well, his and Snoke’s. 

_(Han couldn’t wait to kill the son of a bantha—_

_No fancy force tricks in the world would save him from this father’s wrath._

_Han would just shoot him— **BAM!** —right between the eyes—)_

Han shook his head in self-admonishment. There he went, trying to play the hero again. As if that were even possible. Some hero he was, he couldn’t even protect his own family.

Kriff, Ben… _Ren_ didn’t need a _hero._ He never did. He needed someone to listen, he needed understanding, he needed… 

Dammit, Leia was right, he needed his _father._

Han knew he’d failed him in that for over two decades. All he could do was try to make up for it now—if Ren would even let him. 

Hell, he wouldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing to do with him… or tried to kill him again. 

(Okay, he might resent that a little bit.)

Okay, so Ben, _Ren_ he had made do without a father or his family since he was five but even if he wasn’t ready to go home, he still needed some kind of support network… 

Han would support him however he could, provided Ren would allow it, but what he needed most… was clearly Armitage. Armitage who seemed so determined to leave this mortal coil out of some warped sense of honor. 

Han wondered how exactly to broach the subject. It should probably be done delicately and with finesse… 

***

“So… I heard you were planning on leaving us already… _Armitage… “_

Hux froze; any warmth he’d gained in the last few moments at Ren’s bedside leeching from his face so it once again became a condescending mask. 

“I’m here _now,_ aren’t I?” 

“We really need to talk about this, Red.” 

“We really don’t.”

“Fine. We don’t have to talk now… but there is one thing I need to know.” 

_“What, Solo?!”_

“After what you pulled back there… I need to know if you’re still with me.”

_“Sith hells,_ yes, I’m still with you Solo,” the ginger snapped, utterly flabbergasted by the conversation. “Against my better judgment—but… as long as it’s in Ren’s best interest, then, _dammit,_ I’m with you.” Han held his gaze before slowly nodding. “Good to know. But I had to ask, especially given that whole Naboo business, which, by the way, you still haven’t explained—” 

_“Not here!”_ Hux hissed, hurriedly glancing at the metal slab the First Order dared to call a bed where Ren still slept. 

“Then when?”

Hux sighed and silently directed him out of the room. 

They ended up settling in the cramped mess area, well out of earshot of the unconscious, bedridden Ren. 

“What was that about? You don’t trust your own boyfriend?” Han cursed himself, for a moment there he’d actually managed to forget what a paranoid nerf Mr. “Booby Trap My Own Blaster” was. 

“I trust _Ren_ with my life. It’s a matter of _who else_ might be listening in.”

_“...Snoke?!”_

The ginger bestowed him with a condescending look. “Or the knights.” 

_Shit._ Was Snoke always there? Just how long had the monster been stalking his son? Did he hear every lullaby? Was he a passive listener or was he twisting his (and Leia’s and Luke’s) every word? 

Given what Leia had told him… it was probably the latter. 

Han felt sick. 

“I am _way_ too sober for this conversation. I don’t suppose there’s anything to drink around here?” 

“I feel compelled to tell you it’s against regulations...”

Han scoffed. “Uh huh. And where can I get some ‘against regulations?’”

“Under that panel, I imagine.”

***

“We really shouldn’t do this,” Hux said, taking a sip from his glass of some contraband Corellian whiskey. 

“You really need to learn to lighten up, Red” Han replied, before taking a swig straight from the bottle. 

Hux made a disgruntled noise. “Hey, I know _I_ need this, but you shouldn’t— _someone_ needs to fly the ship.” 

“I told you, it’s on autopilot—we won’t reach our destination for a day and half. And besides, even if we do find trouble on the way I could fly a ship like this in my sleep—”

Han glanced down again to the bottle in his hand with a frown when something else just occurred to him. “Wait, this is _Ren’s_ ship, right? I thought Jedi—uh, Force users weren’t supposed to drink.” 

Han couldn’t exactly say he was surprised though—Ren was _his son_ , after all. And if it was Ren’s, well that was surely the most _benign_ trouble he’d gotten up to lately... 

Armitage snorted. “They aren’t _Jedi,_ you know.” 

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Han said while casually kicking his stolen stormtrooper boots up onto the table and eliciting another sneer from the ginger. 

Naturally, Han was not particularly fond of the uniform but he had yet to find any other clothes on the ship he could actually use. 

“I don’t think they _are_ though… _supposed_ to have this,” Hux spoke a moment later, overly considering of the glass in his hand. “They usually don’t. I don’t think that Leader Snoke would approve if he knew.”

Well, that would explain the hidden compartment. 

“I’ve only ever seen them make use of it once, you know. It was at Auna Ren’s birthday—of course a party for one of his knights apparently involved _disproportionately trashing my ship…_ ” Hux grimaced as he corrected himself, “…trashing _the Finalizer._ ” 

The ex-general took a long sip of his drink. 

“Sounds tough.” 

“Oh you have _no idea._ Just imagine it! Seven rowdy, drunken force users. They were an absolute nightmare.” 

“You mean an absolute _knight_ -mare.” 

“ _Ah!_ That’s terrible,” the ex-general insisted, though the slight pull of his lips betrayed his amusement.

***

“You know I’m not even sure if he was still holding me… at the end,” Hux confessed as he idly rolled the empty bottle across the top of the table. “Or if I was just too much of a coward to go through with it.” 

“Nothing wrong with having a survival instinct.” 

Han frowned at the new bottle he’d at some point procured and wondered if Armitage was just too brainwashed himself to ever consider any alternative. Or if he’d just never figured out that sometimes the rules are wrong. Sometimes selfish was what kept you alive and doing the noble thing was what got you killed. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. What is the mental state of someone who could just blow away five kriffing planets anyway?

Han glanced over at the ginger in concern—concerned because he’d just reminded himself of how dangerous this man was… and just generally concerned for some reason, despite himself. 

Hux glared back, suspicious.

“You’re doing it again, Solo.” 

The old smuggler did his best to look innocent. 

The ex-general sneered in response. “I already told you it won’t work.”

“What won’t work? …wait, is this some sort of First Order thing?” 

“First Order... _thing?_ ”

“Er… I kind of get the feeling there’s some kind of er… cultural misunderstanding here.”

Hux snorted “As if the New Republic knew anything about _culture._ ”

Han held back a sigh. He’d really walked into that one. They seemed to get along better if he didn’t actively remind him he was from the New Republic. 

“Solo, did you _really_ think you were the first to try and connive your way into my company? You want something. I’m not sure what… I’m not a General anymore. Didn’t you already get everything you wanted?”

Did he really not understand kindness just for kindness sake? Even if it was rare in his world of smugglers and cons—Han at least still _understood_ it…

“Who said I want anything from you?” 

“I see. Then my usefulness is at an end. Will I be allowed to know when I am to be executed?” Armitage asked, matter o’factly. 

Han choked on his drink. 

“Will you do it yourself or will you give me to the Resistance first? I wonder… do they actually have a process to this sort of thing in the chaos of the New Republic or will you just shoot me in the back and space me here?” 

“That’s… I’m not doing that.” At least not now. Han knew he shouldn’t be making promises. Hux was a war criminal and there would no doubt there would be a reckoning sooner or later. And he _had_ been considering spacing him himself just a few hours ago… 

The ginger looked at him in utter confusion. 

“Actually, the first priority is getting Ren into a BACTA tank. I think we’ll need your help for a while yet.” 

“Ah… of course.”

“Why the rush? Huh?” 

Han wondered if he actually felt _guilt_ for what he’d done... 

“I’m a _traitor_ , Solo,” Armitage said bluntly, flicking the bottle he’d been playing with across the table hard enough that it rolled off the edge and crashed onto the floor. “We both know I shouldn’t even be alive.” 

This whole conversation was getting too heavy for Han’s tastes. He should have known that Armitage was a sad drunk.

“Shit, is there anything to eat around here?” Han asked, getting up so abruptly his head swam, before going over to rummage through the compartments. 

Armitage motioned vaguely with a gloved hand. “There are perfectly ration bars right there. It’s in front of you. They are going to bite you in the—” 

“Ah, _kriff!_ That’s _nasty._ ” 

“Of course—they are ration bars. They are meant to keep you alive. Not be some… _culinary decadence._ ”

“Yeah, I can taste that.” Han grimaced as he chewed. To be fair it wasn’t that much worse from the rations from the rebellion days. And _before._

(Nobody ever thought too highly of stormtroopers…)

Perhaps he’d just been spoiled by the princess’s royal fair. Oh, speaking of which… “So… what _was_ that Naboo thing about anyway?”

The ex-general squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in annoyance. “This again?” 

“You never did answer,” Han said pointedly. 

Hux sighed. “I just sent my crew to carry out one final mission from me. We long discussed it, those of us in the know, but never…” he squeezed his fist on the table, clearly distressed. “Solo, I should be _there_ with them. However this goes, this is _my_ responsibility. I may have very well ordered them to their deaths—Shit,” he said suddenly as he glanced at the chrono on the wall. “If all goes as planned it should be happening now—” 

“What was the mission?” Han demanded with a new sense of urgency. 

“Nothing against any friends of yours, I’m sure. This mission was purely an internal matter for the First Order—” 

“Why mention Naboo at all then?”

Hux blushed, probably from the drink. It clashed horribly with his hair. “Did you know the Emperor was from Naboo?” 

Han sat up so fast that he bashed himself against the table. “That’s the plan! This was a power grab, wasn’t it?” 

“ _Finally,_ he gets it!” Hux slurred. “Give that one more Ent-Sim hours!” the ex-general ran his gloved hand through his disheveled ginger hair. “I admit; I may have wanted that chair once. You were far from the first to notice, Solo, but these things take time and careful planning you know. Years of maneuvering of both personnel and resources, the amassation of enough firepower…”

“What did you do, Armitage?” 

“I gave the order—” Hux insisted again, as if that meant anything to Han. 

He was cut off by the sudden sound of Ren screaming.

Han swore in Hutteese and both he and Hux took off running, somewhat stumbling, to the medbay.

Kylo Ren was awake. 

Han cursed. He should have realized, even before the screaming began. There was that telltale _feeling_ he always got that proceeded one of Ren’s fits and now, as they drew near, it was kind of hard to miss how everything that wasn’t bolted down was rattling or quaking from the force of Ren’s rage. 

A panicked meddroid slammed against the wall ahead of them, sparred from being reduced to scrap by Ren’s temper only due to the fact that these had been given reinforced casings specifically with Ren in mind. According to Hux everything here was Ren-proof—but that would soon be put to the test. 

As the panicked droid scuttled away Han froze where he was in the hallway, his heart all but trying to escape his ribcage in the face of the onrushing sensation bearing down, the ice in his veins, Ren’s screaming… 

Han couldn’t move and it had nothing to do with the Force.

_(He was back on that kriffing bridge, the saber cutting through his chest…)_

Yeah… father of the year he was, afraid of his own son—it was _pathetic._

“ _Ren!_ You stop that this instant!” Hux snapped, apparently having none of Han’s hang ups when it came to confronting the raging force-user—though that might have not been bravery so much as a lack of concern if he lived or died. 

Oh, what a merry band of kriff-ups they made!

Han was brought violently back from his wallowing to the immediate moment when he became all too acutely aware of the sickening thump of flesh hitting metal. 

_“You!”_ Ren snarled, slamming Hux up against the wall. “You killed my master!” 

Han was moving before he could think better of it. _“REN!”_


End file.
